The other day I was in NYC for a yoga class. Since I have osteoporosis, I’m pretty particular about yoga classes.
I’ve done a ton of research and the teacher seems to really know her stuff.
(You’d be surprised how one wrong stance can make all the difference.) She spends most of her time sweetly maneuvering me like a puppet. Since she’s such an inspiration (see above), I happily surrender.
Anyway, stayed over at The Pod Hotel, the cheapest and most convenient place to park myself this trip. $95 for room with shared bath. I’m not much into shared baths (especially steamy ones with no ventilation), but it was otherwise clean and only one night.
It was time for lunch, but I didn’t have much time. Just within — how would you say this in French — spitting distance was a lovely little French restaurant.
I wanted onion soup. I wanted to sit outside. But I needed room to work.
No probleme. I set up my computer on one bistro table and used the other for my meal. Fortunately, the place wasn’t crowded.
It was oh-so-very civilized, but oh-so-very-hot and humid. Even in the shade. I was tres sweatee and far from chic.
I’m not saying it’s the only French joint in NY, or anywhere near the best one, though said onion soup and salad were very satisfying. Its biggest selling point was that it was in the right place at the right time.
Here are other little bits of France mixed in with the Apple.